


arboreal

by spookykingdomstarlight



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games)
Genre: Courtship, F/M, Forgiveness, Getting to Know Someone Again After a Long Time Apart, Implied Female Inquisitor/Josephine Montilyet, Mutual Pining, Post-Dragon Age: Inquisition - Trespasser DLC, Reunions, Romance, Wedding Rings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-06
Updated: 2019-08-06
Packaged: 2020-07-19 07:44:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,411
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19970479
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spookykingdomstarlight/pseuds/spookykingdomstarlight
Summary: For all that she might have enjoyed the diverting thoughts of marrying Cullen in some private ceremony in the woods somewhere back when they were both too young to know the world, those thoughts never saved her and they certainly hadn’t saved him.





	arboreal

**Author's Note:**

  * For [singedsun](https://archiveofourown.org/users/singedsun/gifts).



Surana used to dwell on thoughts of marriage back in the Circle. It was something she picked up from the humans around her. Dreamers, they were, and not just in the literal sense—though some of them were. Fade-drawn, she believed them to be, couldn’t stay away. It was, she decided sometime later, their fault, those dreaming humans’. Because after leaving the Circle, she never thought of marriage at all.

It was only because everyone was so cooped up, pressed in so close together, yet unable to connect with one another in any meaningful way.

They were nice thoughts admittedly and Surana didn’t regret having them, not even later when she had more important things to worry about. Run off with a single person, devote yourself to them, maybe start a family if that was what you and they wanted. It was exotic compared to the Circle, where you could do none of those things. She might have called it a needed distraction from the banal stretch of days that were only ever punctuated by moments of sheer, heart-stopping terror that lingered as a thick, existential dread until everything settled again into the usual daily patterns.

In a way, the Wardens were the best thing to ever happen to her. Thoughts of love and romance were so very far from her when archdemons breathed down her neck and darkspawn threatened to kill her on a daily basis. Terror was fine, she learned, when she woke up in the morning knowing she would face it. It was never being sure what kind of day it would be that troubled her.

So it was all very strange, in a way, that her thoughts swung back toward matrimony now that she was in Skyhold.

Skyhold was nothing like the Circle, though it was lonely for her in a similar way, a reminder of something she once had and no longer carried.

Who needed a hero when a herald could save all of Thedas?

A few old faces eased the sting and longing she felt for the best of her old adventures—Leliana especially and Morrigan, on loan from Empress Celene, proved adroitly unchanged despite the Orlesian trappings—but there remained one that left her uneasy. He would not meet her gaze or offer more than a perfunctory greeting before melting back into the shadows or otherwise plastering himself to the walls whenever the rest of them gathered. Which was often. The Inquisitor was far more social than she remembered being.

That didn’t mean she wouldn’t take what little she could get from him. If all it could be was a hurried glance, so be it. It was probably all she could hope from him after all this time.

Ser Cullen, who was a Templar no longer, and somehow handsomer than she’d ever known or expected him to turn out. Their last parting wasn’t as sweet as she might have wished and she worried that he resented her for what happened.

Perhaps, though, she could blame him for the turns her mind was taking.

Back then, when she thought of marriage, it was always to him, though she knew it impossible even at the time. Even now, she couldn’t say if she’d picked him because she liked him or simply because he was the convenient, obvious choice. Sweet and shy, he won the hearts of many and never abused those cherished and naïvely formed feelings. Surana was more sensible than most, in her opinion, less interested in the day-to-day trials and politics happening around her, considering it frivolous when there was magic to be learned and honed.

It made her oblivious in some important ways and more capable in others, but it never made her particularly adept at handling awkwardness.

“Thank you for allowing me to come to Skyhold,” Surana said again, perhaps for the third or fourth time since her arrival, half-distracted by the way Cullen still wouldn’t look at her and unable to think of anything more substantial to say.

The Inquisitor stood next to her as she gestured for Surana to step ahead of her into the corridor leading to Skyhold’s main assembly area from the war room. She was nothing like the tales of Saarebas she’d heard all her life, no scar tissue around her lips, and Surana was relieved for that. It wasn’t her place to judge the Qunari when her own culture and every other culture on the planet harbored justified and unjustified fears with regard to mages, but she was glad she didn’t have to confront that fact just by looking at her. “My opinions have little bearing on the fight to come, but I appreciate the welcome. If there’s anything I can do to help, I would gladly offer my services, such that they are.”

Her place, if there was any for her in this world of ancient elven gods and shredded, tattered Veils, had been at Adamant and she’d shirked her duties then, hoping to fulfill a greater purpose. Others paid the price for it and she would honor that debt here if Inquisitor Adaar would have her. Some had looked at her funny when she’d had little to offer with regard to the Dread Wolf’s return, but she hadn’t been raised among the People and they still looked at her with apprehension when she traveled through Dalish lands. What heritage she carried inside of her was useless in that respect. By rights, the Inquisitor could have requested she return to Weisshaupt and clean house as best she could.

It was only… sentiment that kept her here.

“You already know my answer, Warden Commander,” Adaar replied, unconcerned. “We welcome all the assistance we can get. I’m not foolish enough to turn away the Hero of Ferelden’s support and expertise in times like these.”

Something unclenched in her chest and she let out a breath. 

Her gaze cut Cullen’s way. He was busying himself with tidying the stray papers currently strewn across the Inquisitor’s war table.

“I would like to stay,” Surana said, “for a time, at least.” It was an answer to the question Adaar had asked her several days ago when she first arrived.

Adaar smiled patiently, beatifically. It gave her the appearance of even greater youth than she normally bore. Surana couldn’t figure out quite how old she was based on her features when compared with her maturity. “I’ll have Josephine arrange permanent quarters for you.”

Surana cautioned, “Only for a time.”

“Semi-permanent quarters then,” Adaar replied easily. “The windows and walls will only be shrouded in our second best drapes and tapestries. Don’t say the Inquisition never did anything for you.”

“Are you even the Inquisition any longer truly?” She’d heard about Adaar’s latest display at the Winter Palace. Everything was still in disarray as a result, the upheaval of losing such a steadying, stable force a true loss to Thedas ripping across Orlais and Ferelden and even rippling out further than that. It was what drew her here.

Frowning, Adaar brushed her hand over her long, white braid, rubbed the back of her neck, scraping her nail across her temple before answering. That hand twitched toward her opposite side, reaching for a forearm that wasn’t there. “I suppose this will be an adjustment for me as well.” Her smile returned, cheerful and brittle in turn. “We’ll have to think of another name for what we are. I’m sure Josephine will have a suggestion or two.” Her features softened when she spoke Mistress Montilyet’s name and Surana was heartened to see it. Surana shared that sort of intimacy with no one during her own greatest travails, though she’d toyed with the thought of it. She wondered often if things might be different if she’d opened herself up more even to her closest friends.

Her gaze again strayed to the table.

Cullen was now speaking with Leliana, his profile cast in the golden, flickering light of Josephine’s many candles. His hand tightened into a fist at his side before splaying across those so-recently tidied papers, spreading them anew. Leliana’s attention flicked her way briefly and she offered a nod of acknowledgment to Surana.

Cullen did neither.

“Only for a time,” Surana said again, a promise to Adaar and a warning to herself.

For all that she might have enjoyed the diverting thoughts of marrying Cullen in some private ceremony in the woods somewhere back when they were both too young to know the world, those thoughts never saved her and they certainly hadn’t saved him.

*

Even thirteen years after the last time her decisions carried weight beyond her and the people directly under her command, her reputation preceded her and that meant people avoided her. She liked to pretend she was as above such lowly concepts as companionship the way everyone seemed to think she was, but on occasion she enjoyed the thought of sharing a meal with someone. In all her life, she never felt lonelier than when she sat alone in a tavern full of chattering people who kept glancing her way before turning conspicuously away before she could so much as smile at them.

Occasionally, she bothered Leliana and the Inquisitor and sometimes even Morrigan, but they couldn’t keep her company at every meal and Surana wouldn’t impose upon them more often than that even so. She’d never been the sort and solitude was no stranger to her.

She made the best of it, eating robustly and quickly before finding other things to do with her time. The healers warmed to her the first time she brought them a bag stuffed almost to bursting with elfroot and embrium and continued to delight in her presence, even when she then put them to use healing some of her peskier wounds, the ones they tsked about and shook their heads over when she returned with such injuries. She’d not yet figured out a cure for that one scar that kept opening across her bicep, a gift from a long-dead Darkspawn with a blade edged in something she preferred not to think upon too deeply. They sometimes tried to help, but it was beyond even them.

Master Dennett seemed to like her well enough, too.

Perhaps she would trouble him when she was done here. She enjoyed hearing him talk about his home in the Hinterlands and enjoyed even more the way he spoke about his wife. In a month, he’d be returning to her and he couldn’t be happier about it.

The thought put a smile on her face.

A throat cleared from the table and a voice, deep and broad, startled her from her reveries. “Warden Commander,” said Cullen, his hands burdened with a wooden tray and a tankard. His cheeks were red, but she didn’t think it was from drink. He looked so awkward and stiff and fearful that she almost jumped to her feet to clear the table for him. She felt all of fifteen again, the world’s experiences yet before her. He continued unabated, courageous in a way. “Would you mind if I…?”

“By all means,” she replied, nerves singing. All thoughts of finishing her stew fled. She could do little but swallow the tepid, tangy water in her mug. Like most things that couldn’t be fully trusted, it was treated with elfroot. Over the years, she’d grown fond of the taste, though many others wouldn’t touch the stuff and preferred the safety of an ale. “I would welcome the company.”

Cullen huffed darkly. “Such that it is, maybe,” he replied, deprecating, as he placed his tray on the table. By minute fractions, almost imperceptible, he relaxed. “I cannot claim to be worthy of such a welcome. It can’t escape your notice that I’ve—”

 _Good,_ she thought. _Out in the open. Best way to handle it._

“Avoided me?” She smiled and relaxed a little, perfectly happy to get this out of the way and move on from it. It wouldn’t hurt her overmuch if Cullen wasn’t able to work with her, though it would be a pity. “I hadn’t noticed.”

Cullen’s mouth twitched, drawing Surana’s attention to the rakish scar that bisected his lip. She wanted to skim her thumb across it, ask him its provenance. It wasn’t there the last time she saw him, that awful encounter when he’d asked her to annul the Circle and she’d told him no, the only thing she was certain she wouldn’t give him if he asked. He’d been in so much pain then, physical and emotional, and there was a part of her that never recovered from the disgust she’d felt toward her own on that day. Even now, she sometimes woke, guilt-ridden and angry that they’d allowed themselves to turn into such creatures.

At those times, early in the morning or late in the night, she blamed them—and herself—for not succeeding at finding a better solution.

The rest of the time, she knew there was no good solution and they were as worthy of her empathy as Cullen. There were too many hurts on both sides to fully reconcile. Individuals would have to build relationships with one another and maybe one day…

“You deserve better treatment from me,” Cullen said, an admonishment to himself, the bladed edge of his words pointed back at himself. “I’m sorry I haven’t…”

She put aside her spoon, pushed her tray away, swallowed the last of her water and looked Cullen in the eyes, reaching for his hand. It was kind of him to want to make amends. This was what would heal the world.

“I appreciate what you’re trying to do.” He only flinched a little at the touch and didn’t pull away. She didn’t take advantage by letting her fingertips linger too long across his knuckles. “But you owe me no apologies. What happened was…” She shook her head and tried to clear her mind of the images. It was still hard to do. “It was a violent miscarriage of what is right in the world and few of the Templars in Kinloch earned themselves the slaughter they faced.”

She didn’t think about the ones who might have. Cullen knew more than enough about that.

He swallowed and bowed his head and she was surprised by what he said next. “And what of the Gallows?”

Everyone knew about Kirkwall and it was Cullen’s evil fortune that landed him there after the massacre at Kinloch Hold. She couldn’t begin to imagine what that was like, those traumas coming one on top of the other. She didn’t know much about Cullen’s involvement, had always kept her nose out of his business there. She didn’t have the time to follow Cullen’s life across the face of Thedas, as curious as she sometimes got about it. The most solid intelligence she received came from Alistair the one time he found himself traveling through that wretched city and it didn’t pertain directly to Cullen.

“If you seek absolution from me,” she said, uncertain, “Cullen, I can’t…”

His skin went deathly pale and he dropped his eyes again. He looked sickly and she almost offered him her water until she remembered there was none left. “Of course,” he replied, almost stammering the words. “I didn’t—”

“I cannot absolve you of something you haven’t done to me.” She made her voice firmer. It was her Warden Commander voice, the one she used on recruits and followers who didn’t know what to do and sought her guidance. “And I have never held your words against you. Ferelden is a long time in the past. I can see that you’ve found some measure of peace here. You should embrace that.” If he could work with a mage and a Qunari one at that, he was just fine. He didn’t need Surana’s permission to move on from the past. She didn’t know everything about what happened or what he’d done since he joined the Inquisition, but he was respected and valued. She could ask for little better for him. “You deserve that much.”

“Warden Commander…”

“You can call me by my name,” Surana offered, “if you want.”

His body stilled and straightened, his spine going rigid. “I’m not certain that’s a good idea.”

Embarrassment crept up the back of her neck, spreading up her throat in warm, reaching tendrils. That had been forward, even she could admit it. It was meant only to be a friendly gesture, but her awkwardness turned it clumsy. It shouldn’t have been so hard to talk to an old friend no matter how big the chasm between them.

His features crumpled, pain writ across his features in the deepening of the lines around his mouth and between his eyes. “You have to know how I feel about you.” His voice cracked on the admission. Then his eyes widened and his mouth fell open slightly and Surana could see him retreating from her even before he pushed himself to his feet. “Felt.”

It maybe wasn’t what he wanted to say, but it was what she needed to hear.

One thought crystallized in the back of her mind: he’d never been a convenient choice to her. In different circumstances, they might have been… could have been…

He got halfway to standing before she managed to grab him from across the table, her hand wrapping tight around his wrist. Her nails dug into the soft skin there and every tendon stood out to her. She’d learned with the Wardens that you took what happiness you could find whenever duty didn’t interfere. There was no duty here that a few minutes’ indulgence wouldn’t survive. “I used to think about you,” she said, quiet, wild. Cullen heard her anyway, went still and skittish.

She told him about her daydreams, the forest and the vows they would share. Simple words for a simple deed made impossible by laws and politics and the fears of an entire civilization. She told him about the hollow in her chest after Kinloch, the way she couldn’t even hate him for his words and deeds that day, when she couldn’t justify what occurred. She explained how a part of her would have torn the entirety of the Circle down if she’d let it.

It wouldn’t only have been for Cullen. She could never burden him with that guilt. But his pleas had made it so much harder.

“I didn’t know until after I left that I could care about anyone,” she said, hoping it wouldn’t come across as the criticism it could so easily turn into. This might have been the most she’d ever said to him all wrapped up in one speech. Always before they’d spoken in short, whispered conversations, the occasional flirtation, nothing she thought too deeply about except in those quiet moments that she didn’t fully understand anyway. “But I cared about you. I still do, Cullen.”

She figured, at this point, that she always would in one way or the other, in whatever way she would be allowed to do so. Whatever form that ended up taking didn’t matter to her. But she did have a preference or two. And all of them involved getting the same chance that anyone else did to get to know a person. “I’d like to see what that could mean now that the Circle doesn’t stand between us.”

She wasn’t sure if it would be enough to convince him. The most compelling words she ever said happened before the start of battles and this was no war. Her footing here was unsteady. All she could do was hope, hope that she could salvage something she hadn’t believed could be hers.

And then he released a broken, cracked sigh, almost shuddering under the weight of it.

His eyes softened a bit and the flush returned to his cheeks. He ducked his head and pulled at the neck of his tunic and looked away before clearing his throat. There were a few false starts before he managed to speak and when he did, his voice was thready, uncertain. “Is that something we really could have, do you think?” And he sounded so hopeful about it that Surana would have taken any risk to see this through.

Compared to throwing oneself into a fight against archdemons, it was only exactly as terrifying, but she would do it anyway if that was what he wanted.

“You tell me, Cullen,” she replied, braver than she truly felt. It didn’t seem to matter how much she’d grown or accomplished in her life; her nerve frayed and tore as he didn’t make a sound or a move. She remembered the young man she used to know, shy, yes, but nowhere near as thoughtful as his counterpart before her. He would’ve stammered something by now if these were the old days, if only to fill the awkward, tense, brutal silence.

When he lifted her hand to his mouth and pressed a light kiss to the back of her hand, than a nipping one to the sensitive skin on the inside of her wrist, she had her answer.

*

“Where are we going?” Surana asked, hand gripped tight in Cullen’s. It was, mostly, a rhetorical question. There wasn’t much outside of Skyhold. Steep inclines, snow. The nearby rush of water was audible to her, though she questioned whether Cullen could hear it. Many went to visit the waterfalls, pretend like they were foolish enough to dip their toes into the frigid water of the river that carried glacial water into the lowlands. Sometimes she wished there was more trees, though she never said as much.

“It’s not far from here,” he answered, hardly an answer at all. He smiled at her and she was awed anew at the brightness of that look being directed her way. His hair was starting to pale at the temples, shining silver-blond in the waves he’d never conquer, but he looked younger for a moment than she’d ever seen him.

“I could have guessed that myself,” she said, tugging at his arm. The chill of the morning cut through even her leathers and she wished she’d thought to bring her gloves. Her breath formed thin clouds that curled toward the sky with each exhalation. “I know you. There would be a request in triplicate with the Inquisitor if you intended to go into the field. And you’d delay yourself because you spent too long briefing Captain Rylen.”

His laugh sent a warm thrill through her; it always did, even now. He cast an amused glance her away, eyebrow arched, and said nothing. What needed to be said? She could already see the dry, sarcastic remark forming in his mind. _If you know me so well, perhaps you would like to take over as the Commander of the former Inquisition’s forces in my stead and save me the trouble?_

That was the last thing she wanted, even in jest, so she refrained from teasing him further. Some days, she wondered if he was ready to put aside his duties here and move onto something else. Surana couldn’t say she wouldn’t happily move on from this with him. When she’d joined Adaar’s war, she hadn’t thought it would tease on this long, this slow. This was a war that would be won in degrees, by a thousand tiny cuts. Leliana was the most useful of them all in this fight, she and the Divine Victoria, who used her contacts in Orlais to the most exquisite effect.

It wasn’t a place for war dogs like them, not really. Perhaps one day, their expertise will be useful again, but right now…?

Right now, she had this and it was more than she could have thought to want, even if she didn’t always feel useful.

The conversation fell away for the next little while, twenty minutes or so, all told, their voices giving over to birdsong and the crunch of frost-crusted leaves beneath their feet. It was an easy walk that left neither of them winded. In truth, she couldn’t remember the last time they did such a thing as this. Months, maybe, or more. It was nobody’s fault, but somehow she wasn’t surprised that it was Cullen who rectified it now.

A copse of trees stood ahead of them, the evergreen leaves tinged a bluish color. They were hardy things, not the prettiest she’d seen, but not the most hideously gnarled either. She respected them for taking root in these climes. For that reason alone, they were beautiful to her. She wasn’t sure when Cullen found out it was one of her favorite spots in Thedas, but that didn’t surprise her either. It just hadn’t ever crossed her mind that he might be bringing her here of all places.

“Have you considered joining Leliana’s nightingales?” she joked as he guided her through the thickest portion toward the tiny bench that sat at its center.

“It’s not so very difficult to intuit your destination.” He gestured for her to sit. “You don’t care to hide your tracks.” He didn’t ask her why. It would do nothing except hurt him. She promised herself long ago that she wouldn’t skulk about, no matter where she went. She wasn’t afraid of what she was and she wasn’t afraid of Templars. She wouldn’t hide her tracks because she had no reason to do so. Anyone who disagreed could suffer the consequences of that fact. “And there’s not much else in this direction.”

She pulled him down onto the bench next to her and enjoy the gentle curve of his smile, dappled by the weak, early sunlight.

“This isn’t a wedding in a forest, not exactly,” Cullen said, his knee jostling hers as he reached into his utility belt. “But—”

Surana placed her hand over his mouth before he could say more and she kept it there long after he held out to her a ring, her line of sight pulled inward by the shine of it, the symbolism. Her blood pounded in her ears and her vision swam with the start of unshed tears. She blinked them away and took a steadying breath and didn’t think too hard about how well this matched her dreams.

It didn’t matter that there was no priest to serve as witness. Mages learned in a Circle that intentions mattered. Cullen’s intention mattered.

No Chantry brother or sister might bless this union, but in her mind that didn’t make them any less wed to one another.


End file.
